


Fic:  (Leverage) Gone Fishing - Maybe?

by HollyLyn1217



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyLyn1217/pseuds/HollyLyn1217
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> My take on what I’d have liked to see of Eliot and Hardison’s ‘adventure’ in the woods.  Also, I was a little peeved that Nate brushed off what Eliot and Hardison had done to take out the militia so I had a couple of subtle digs at him as well - Eliot and Hardison style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic:  (Leverage) Gone Fishing - Maybe?

  


Episode Related: “The Gone Fishing Job”

Category: drama, hurt/comfort, alt. Scene(s)

Summary: My take on what I’d have liked to see of Eliot and Hardison’s ‘adventure’ in the woods.  Also, I was a little peeved that Nate brushed off what Eliot and Hardison had done to take out the militia so I had a couple of subtle digs at him as well - Eliot and Hardison style.

Gone Fishing – Maybe?

Holly Lyn

*-*-*-*

“Consider yourselves casualties of war.”

  
With those five words, Eliot knew that his future – along with Hardison’s – was not very bright. His mind raced as Hardison was forced to his knees by one of Chester’s militia. When the same tactic was tried on him he locked his knees and refused to go down. “It ain’t gonna happen, Bubba,” he growled.

The young man could barely look his commander in the eye as he said, “I got one standin’ and one kneelin’.”

“Make it work,” Chester ordered.

Sweat rolled between Eliot’s shoulder blades and he could only imagine what Hardison was feeling as the sound of rounds being chambered into readiness echoed loudly through the clearing. They needed a distraction to enable him to take out at least a couple of the men standing nearby and give the two of them even the slightest chance of making their escape.

“Whoa! Hey … hey! Hold up … hold up, man. Can I at least get a cigarette?” Eliot could have kissed Hardison at that moment for his timely – yet strange – interruption.

“What?!” Chester looked like he’d sucked on a persimmon.

“Can I get a cigarette?” Hardison repeated as Eliot set himself and glanced around making note of where all of the opposition’s players were positioned. “As an enemy combatant, I’m entitled to one last cigarette according to Geneva Convention Article 89, Paragraph 3, Subsection K.” He turned pleading eyes up to Eliot, “You … you know it!”

‘Where the hell does he come up with this shit’ Eliot thought as he added his voice to Hardison’s, “Are we combatants or not?”

It was not a pleasant smile that crossed the face of the militia commander but he was willing to be generous knowing he had the upper hand. “Fine. Brandon,” he addressed his youngest soldier – who leapt to his feet, “give the man a cigarette.”

Brandon fumbled through his pockets and finally produced a pack. As he offered it to Hardison, the hacker looked up at the kid and asked, “Those menthol lights?”

“No,” Brandon responded almost apologetically and carefully placed the cigarette between Hardison’s lips as if he was afraid he’d get his fingers bitten off. His nerves were really getting the better of him now and he fumbled the box of matches out of his pocket and struggled to strike one.

Through all of this, Eliot’s attention never left the buzz of activity going on in the rest of the camp as the majority of the soldiers prepared to do whatever it was that was on their agenda. Eliot was all too aware of the familiar odor that lingered in the woods and it didn’t bode well for someone.

“Take your time,” Hardison encouraged the still clumsy Brandon and watched as the young man dropped the unlit match on the ground. As Brandon scrambled to pick up the match, Hardison let the cigarette fall from his lips as he said, “It’s over there, man,” and reached out with his free left hand to retrieve it, grabbing a handful of leaves – and the match – along the way.

“For god’s sakes, Brandon!” Chester snapped.

“For god’s sakes, Brandon!” Hardison echoed to further confuse things and that was when Eliot struck. With his free right hand, he reached behind him and grabbed the rifle from the soldier who was still awaiting the order to shoot. The force of Eliot’s movement knocked the man flat on his back as Eliot dragged Hardison up off of his knees and started running. “Come on … come on!” he urged as they darted for the nearest cover.

Every soldier in the camp started firing at the fleeing captives and Hardison’s mouth was still running as fast as he was, “You see that? That’s called a plan,” he puffed.

“What plan, man?” Eliot snapped back as he grunted and stumbled feeling a sharp pain burn through his lower left side. “This way?” he yelled and pulled Hardison along, reminded once again of the lingering shoulder injury he’d sustained in Juarez.

Hardison kept falling behind, putting more pressure on Eliot’s wounded side and shoulder. Eliot could feel a sticky trail of blood seeping into the waistband of his jeans but he didn’t have the luxury of time to assess the damage, nor did he want to distract the younger man from their primary goal which was to get as far away from the angry, armed militia as quickly as possible. Still … “Stop … stop … stop … stop … stop,” Eliot huffed pulling up from their frantic pace.

Alec was confused, “What you mean stop? Why are we stoppin’ running? …”

“Listen to me,” Eliot insisted. “The van was averaging 45 miles an hour – right? We were in there for 22 minutes,” he paused for breath, “we took two turns off the highway. That’s 17 miles north of town. We need to go south.” He pointed off to their right, “That’s south.”

“Says you and what compass?” Alec was obviously disbelieving.

“This compass, man,” Eliot poked his own head. “Some of us were born with good direction, Hardison.”

“Well, I have a sense … that’s uphill; running downhill is faster. That’s proven science!”

The two men glared at each other as the sound of dogs and men drew nearer. Eliot huffed, “All right ...Go.”

A quick round of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’ ensued. Eliot came up with paper to cover Alec’s rock.  “Damn it," Alec cursed as Eliot took off south and up.

“How many times I gotta tell you, you’ve got a ‘tell’?” Eliot growled and powered on up the hill. They desperately needed more space between them and the militia and fast!

Eliot was tiring again but how to give himself a breather without alarming Hardison? “Wait … wait … wait … wait,” he pulled up and began reaching through the underbrush, ripping plants out as he went, “We gotta get ‘em off out scent.”

“What’s that?” Alec asked as some of the leaves were shoved at him.

“Just rub it on you. It’s skunkweed.”

Hardison’s head shook as he got a whiff, “Uh uh … Uh uh!”

“It’ll get the dogs off our scent, Hardison. Rub it on your damn body!” Eliot regretted the harsh tone but he needed Hardison’s head in the game.

“Uh uh. Aw … I got that smell in my mouth. It’s strong!”

“Put it on ya, man,” Eliot growled and rubbed the front of Alec’s sweater with the leaves as he dragged the other man a few more steps casting his eyes on the ground to find something else to help them. He spotted a sharp stone and picked it up, “Hey … All right … High five.” Hardison looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Hive five for morale.” When Hardison finally complied, he cut both of their palms with the stone.

“What the hell!” Hardison yelped.

“I know what I’m doing,” Eliot said as he smeared their hands against a tree trunk.

“Gangrene, man! Gangrene!” Alec shouted as they started moving again. “You know what? We wouldn’t even be in this mess if you didn’t wanna go fishin’! I could’ve taken you down to Mama Pearl’s Fish Shack and got you a catfish – two pieces – and a biscuit for $5.99. Instead you got us out here with trigger happy Joe’s tryin’ to finish us! And he’s all too happy to shoot himself a Negro …”

“Oh! So it’s a black thing now? Is that it? They’re huntin’ me too, all right?”

“Yeah, Skippy, it’s a black thing. Who’d they try to shoot first, Eliot? Who got punched first, Eliot? Me! I’m about tired of this red-neckedness …”

“Damn it, Hardison …”

“Damn it, Eliot!” the computer whiz mimicked furiously.

Eliot knew he had to calm them both down. “Look, man, I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before.”

“This! Right here … in the woods …”

“Yes, I have! Okay? It was easier last time, though.”

“Why?” Hardison wasn’t sure he really wanted to know but had to ask.

“’Cause you were already dead.”

That shut Hardison up and Eliot used the respite to wipe his still bleeding hand over the spreading wet stain at his waist. At least he could keep the bullet wound a secret from the younger man a little while longer.

A few minutes later both men were startled by the sound of Nathan’s voice cracking through their – silent up until now – ear buds, “Guys! … Eliot – Hardison can you hear me?”

“Wait, wait, wait … stop, stop, stop,” Eliot pressed a hand to his ear to hear better. “Nate – Nate … you’re breakin’ up man …” Hardison looked around as Eliot spoke. “We’re in the woods. Listen! We’re approximately 17 miles from the bank.”

“Okay …” Nathan was cut off by static again.

“Damn it!” Eliot swore and ripped out his ear bud. “Can you hear ‘em?”

“No, man … Cloud cover? … Day like this? …” Hardison waved his free hand around, “We gotta bounce the signal off a radio tower.”

“How we do that?” Eliot replaced his earpiece.

“Need a clear view of the sky.” Both men started looking up into the trees for their best option.

They picked a tall tree that looked sturdy enough to hold both of their weight and started climbing. Eliot was glad for a breather when Hardison indicated they were high enough. He closed his eyes and willed a round of dizziness away but had no such luck with the pain pounding through his side and shoulder. To his left he could hear Hardison trying to talk to the others. “Nate – hey. Can you hear me?”

“Hardison? Are you okay?” Parker responded first.

“We can’t talk very loud,” Eliot rasped as they watched the soldiers and dogs milling around below them, trying to pick up their trail. “These militia guys are following us. They’re armed and I’m pretty sure we pissed ‘em off.”

“Now listen,” Nate instructed, “now there are railroad tracks a mile and a half west of the camp. Can you get there?”

Hardison took this one, “Sure but what if there’s no train?”

“Oh there will be. We’re gonna steal you one.”

The earbuds went silent again for a few minutes. The two men sat wordlessly in their perch watching the posse far below them casting around for any sign of them until finally another crackle sounded. It was Nathan, “Okay, Eliot, Hardison, a train on the way. It’s coming from Pennsylvania. It’s a produce – uh –train carrying beets.”

The soldiers had moved on so the two fugitives began making their way back to solid ground. Eliot literally fell the last few feet and landed hard. To cover for his slip, he started growling immediately, “God! Come on, man.” He struggled to his feet and brushed himself off. “I hate beets. Come on. Let’s go!”

And they were off again. Fortunately heading in a different direction fromm the one the militia had taken.

They made it to the tracks with minutes to spare before the train was due to pass by. As they struggled up the embankment towards the tracks, Eliot said, “We did it, man. We actually did it. We actually stole it! How’s your train jumping skills, man?”

“I ain’t no hobo but I can hold my own.”

“Don’t move,” a voice came from behind them accompanied by the sound of a round being chambered into a weapon. They turned their heads slowly to face a lone militiaman. “Put your hands up,” he ordered.

With their backs still to their captor, Eliot pointed to the cuffs saying, “What do you want us to do? You’re the ones that put this on us, man.”

Intent on creating the confusion and chaos that they were well known for, the two men started bickering away. “You go under,” Eliot insisted and motioned how they were going to maneuver around in the cuffs.

“Why you always gotta twist it around?” Hardison whined.

“Not like that, man!” Eliot bitched, “just go under …”

As the ‘discussion’ escalated and got more animated the soldier started to twitch. “Just hold on a minute!” Eliot yelled at their impatient captor and went back to the argument. Eventually Eliot went under and they wound up facing the right direction. “Man, it ain’t that hard. It’s not that hard!”

Thinking he had the upper hand the militiaman moved in and shoved his rifle up in Alec’s face, “Shut up!”

Eliot’s arm was a blur as he grabbed the muzzle of the rifle and elbowed the soldier in the face, knocking him to the ground. Eliot disarmed the gun and tossed it far out of everyone’s reach.

“I’m gonna tell you something. You tell your little boy scout troop their time is up,” Eliot instructed the man.

“We’re getting new recruits every day,” the man smiled. “You can’t stop what we have planned. No one can.”

The hijacked train was now passing slowly by in the background but Eliot and Hardison were focused on each other and the man at their feet. They both kicked out at the same time, knocking the cocky son of a bitch unconscious.

“Come on, man,” Hardison said and headed towards the train, “Let’s go.”

“All right,” Eliot said as he prepared to jump.

Surprisingly it was Hardison pulling back this time. “Whoa, whoa, whoa … wait, wait, wait …”

“What? Hardison, we gotta get on this train,” Eliot protested. He wanted someplace he could lie down – and maybe pass out – for a little while.

“No – no! What did you smell in that camp?”

“What?!”

“What were you smelling in the camp?”

“We gotta get on this train!” Eliot insisted.

“Eliot, what were you smelling?” Alec was dead serious.

That stopped the retrieval specialist short. “Fertilizer … and molasses.” Hardison shook his head; he didn’t understand. “You reduce the molasses down and use it as an oil for a fertilizer bomb – all right? I’ve seen it in Lebanon; it’s better than Kerosene.”

The lights went on for Alec. “So a fertilizer bomb in a van. That’s what the little hillbilly was crying about?”

“Look, man, we get on this train, all right? We get back there, we call the FBI …”

“Eliot … Eliot, what if the bomb’s mixed already? Is it stable?”

“No. They gotta use it within the next 48 hours.” Eliot could see where Hardison was going with this but he had to be sure that this was what the other man wanted.

“Okay. Eliot, we call the FBI. Maybe they make it, maybe they don’t. What happens then? Watch the building blow up on the news? Children … Firemen scattered everywhere? Look, man, I say we go back down there and we stop ‘em.” There was no doubt about the determination and conviction on Hardison’s face and in his voice. As the end of the train rumbled by, Alec sealed the deal saying, “I say we whup some hillbilly ass.”

“We’re gonna get bloody on this one.” Hardison nodded briefly in acknowledgement of Eliot’s deadly serious statement. “All right. Come on, man.” They headed back to the downed soldier. “I’m gonna grab his walkie talkie. You grab his shoelaces and you get his belt. I’m gettin’ this,” Eliot leaned over and grabbed a hatchet from the man’s utility belt. “What do you say we each lose about 180 pounds?” he eyed their cuffed wrists. “Yeah?”

Hardison smiled and nodded, “Yeah.”

Stopping for a much needed breather, Hardison and Eliot put the hatchet to good use trying to fashion some weapons from the surrounding greenery.

“Eliot – Hardison, can you hear me? … Where are you on the train …” It was Nate.

‘Shit,’ Eliot thought to himself.

“Yeah, Nate, that didn’t happen,” Hardison responded grimly as he worked on sharpening a branch.

“What do you mean it didn’t happen? You’re not on the train?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alec was all business.

“Guys … you’re going to go toe to toe with these people without a plan?”

“Oh, we got a plan,” Alec grinned vindictively. “It’s called CWA.”

There was silence from the other end of the link.

“It’s Can of Whup Ass,” Eliot finally spoke up.

Eliot was fiddling with their stolen walkie talkie but was a little unnerved by the silence from the man sitting next to him. Hardison was never this quiet. “Feeling confident?” he asked trying to break the somber mood.

“Not really,” Alec shook his head.

“Good … ‘Cause overconfidence will kill you faster than a bullet any day. Fear’s good.”

“Oh, I have fear. And doubt. And really serious regrets. I should be fine,” Hardison said with a straight face.

Eliot nodded, “All right. You’re ready now,” he said and patted the younger man on the shoulder.

They headed back to the militia camp where Eliot quietly took out two sentries along the way. Hardison set a trap for the third and, when the man went down easily, the hacker quipped, “Science … it works,” before ensuring the man stayed down by whacking him with his sharpened branch.

Unfortunately the rest of the militia soon had them surrounded and marched them back to camp.

“Good work, Tommy,” Chester commended the leader of the group escorting their recaptured prisoners.

“Where you gonna put the bang, Chester?” Hardison asked. “Office building … pre-school … church?”

“A soldier knows there are casualties in every war,” Chester responded callously.

“See, that’s the difference,” Eliot said softly, “between a real soldier and this little Halloween outfit you got going on.” Chester reared back and hit Eliot with a huge roundhouse punch right to the jaw.  Eliot stood his ground and said, “You’d kill to protect your rights. A real soldier? He’d die protecting somebody else’s.”

Chester nodded and several of his men prepped and raised their rifles.

“Come on,” Eliot goaded.

“Wait,” Hardison raised his hands, “Wait, wait. I never did get that cigarette.”

“Kill them,” Chester ordered.

“I tell you, man,” Eliot interrupted, “I think I know where your cigarette’s at.”

“Do you?” Hardison played along.

“I think I saw it … right over there,” Eliot pointed to the camp’s munitions area.

“Right there?” Hardison pointed as well.

Chester turned just in time to see the flare as the cigarette burned down and the filter ignited creating an explosion within the munitions store area that rocked the entire camp, tossing men around like rag dolls.

Hardison and Eliot were the first ones to recover. “You all right?” Eliot asked as he attempted to stand.

“Yeah,” Alec responded and then moved quickly when Eliot collapsed back to the ground with an audible groan. “Eliot?!” he asked putting one hand on the smaller man’s torso. Eliot cried out and Alec pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood on this fingers and he quickly found the growing damp patch on Eliot’s shirt.

Lifting the smaller man’s shirt, Hardison got his first look at the damage that had been done hours earlier. “That’s a bullet hole, man,” he stated. “When the hell did that happen?”

“Back when we first escaped this lunatic asylum,” Eliot panted and ripped the bottom half of his t-shirt to wad up and press against the wound. “I think it’s just a bad graze. At the worst it’s a through and through. I can’t feel the bullet still in there.”

Hardison looked at him in disbelief. “You been running around – bleeding out – all this time and you didn’t think to say anything?”

“I needed you focused on what we had to do, Hardison. This?” he pointed to his side, “this is nothing. I’ll take care of it when the job is done.” Eliot looked up and Hardison willing him to stick to their plan.

Alec took a deep breath and watched as Eliot tore another strip from his shirt and used it to tie the first piece tightly around his waist. He shook his head and said, “Once this job is done, you and me are gonna have a serious talk. Serious! Now do you need help or is Superman beyond that?” he asked sarcastically.

“I ain’t Superman,” Eliot said softly and put out a hand for assistance. He staggered and would have fallen again if Hardison hadn’t wrapped an arm around him to hold him steady. “I’m just trying to get the job done the best I know how.”

Hardison knew this was the truth and he let Eliot go to make sure he could stand on his own. When Eliot remained on his feet, Alec laughed and raised one hand, “High five!” Eliot looked at him in confusion. “For morale!” he echoed Eliot’s comment from earlier.

As their hands slapped together both men were laughing but the celebration was short-lived as Whitman pulled up in his distinctive yellow Hummer. They dove for cover and if Hardison was a little extra attentive to making sure Eliot got there safely, neither man was going to comment on it.

They watched Whitman order Chester to shut down the operation and move the militia to a safe house but turned as Nathan joined them in their hidey hole. “Hey,” he greeted. “Listen, next time I steal you a train, get on it!”

Eliot held his breath waiting to see if Hardison was going to give him away but all his partner in crime said was, “Look, man, you’re not gonna rain on my parade today, Nate. I made a bomb … out of a menthol light.” Eliot smiled with pride as Hardison gave Nathan a run down of the events leading up to the massive explosion that had all but shut down the enemy camp.

Nate just shook his head and asked, “You got a radio?” Eliot handed him the device. “What frequency are they on?”

“Seven – seven – two,” the hitter responded happy to let Nathan take the lead. He knew he and Hardison had done well even if their leader was refusing to acknowledge it.

Whitman was doling out last minute instructions when Nate’s voice came blaring out of the open walkie talkies within their midst, “All units move in; we have an APS location on the camp. ATF airborne is incoming.”

“ATF?” Chester said, “That’s the Feds! The Feds are comin’,” he shouted out to his men to get them moving.

“Be advised,” Nathan continued, “Be advised we have a cooperating witness on the site. Apprehend but do not injure Hugh Whitman.”

Chester and his men stared at Whitman as he blurted out, “What? No, no, no … hold it. Guys, hold it. Wait, man. That’s not …”

“Should’ve known,” Chester accused. “Once a government man, always a government man.”

“Wait,” Whitman protested again. “I gave you training. I gave you equipment … Look, I have your money!”

“Let’s see the money,” Chester demanded.

Whitman opened his briefcase to reveal nothing but paperwork. “Wait a minute. Oh, no, no, no. Wait this was straight from the bank,” he protested not knowing about Parker’s little switcheroo when he was delayed getting into his Hummer in the bank’s parking lot. As Chester and his men looked on in disgust, Whitman blustered, ‘Guys, I’m a fellow patriot …”

“Is this the evidence you were gonna sell to the Feds for your freedom?” Chester spat furiously.

“What?! Chester, think! This only hangs me!” Whitman waved the documents around. “We’re being played. We’re being set up. The money must be back at the bank.”

“You ain’t lyin’ about one thing,” Chester pointed his pistol at Whitman, “We need to hide out. So let’s go into town and get our money, Whitman. And maybe we don’t shoot you. Move it.”

Nathan, Eliot and Hardison watched as Whitman was herded away and then they left the scene via the back way that Nathan had used to gain entrance to their position earlier.

“What do you know?” Hardison quipped as he surreptitiously helped Eliot along, “I’m starting to enjoy the outdoors.”

“Hey,” Eliot called to Nathan, “you seriously going to let them get away with this?”

“Eliot, I stole you a train. Have a little faith.”

A short while later the entire team was outside the bank as the FBI – the real FBI – took Whitman and his now defunct hillbilly militia into custody.

As they turned to load themselves into Hardison’s van and head home, Eliot gasped and crumpled to the ground; the last of his stamina and adrenaline leaving in one fell swoop. Hardison scooped him up and made him comfortable in the very back of the van amidst his high tech set up. He tapped Eliot awake and said, “You gonna be okay with what’s in the first aid kit or do I have to stop somewhere?”

“I don’t know. Let me take a look,” Eliot replied and lifted his shirt, removing the blood soaked, makeshift bandage he’d put together.

Sophie and Parker gasped at the gory sight but Nathan pushed them out of the way for a closer look. “Damn it, Eliot …” he started.

“There was a job that needed doin’, Nate,” Hardison said firmly. “We did what had to be done.”

Eliot looked at him gratefully after examining the wound. “I think I’m gonna need a big bottle of antiseptic, some extra large gauze pads and heavy duty surgical tape to hold it together. Probably won’t need to stitch it up, though.”

“We can get those for you,” Parker said quietly.

“And one of those instant cold packs for my shoulder,” Eliot added as his eyes slid closed.

“Your shoulder?” Nate ground out, “what …”

“Juarez,” was all Eliot growled making it obvious the conversation was over.

>^..^<

While Nathan, Sophie, and Parker dealt with getting their client squared away, Hardison decided it was time he and Eliot got their chance to go fishing – sort of. They were upstairs in the briefing room and Hardison was teaching Eliot the finer points of virtual fishing. Their wall to wall monitors broadcast the image of a tranquil lake setting and he had even gone so far as to set up camp chairs and an umbrella. Between them sat a cooler filled with Alec’s favorite orange soda and Eliot’s brand of long-necked beer – although given how looped out the hitter was on pain killers, Hardison wasn’t exactly sure the beer was a good idea. But was he going to tell Eliot he couldn’t have his favorite beverage? Nuh uh – no way. His nana did not raise him to be that kind of stupid.

The quiet in the room was broken when Hardison said, “Uh … uh … reel it in slow,” as he helped Eliot learn the finer points of the game. “Reel it in slow.”

“I know how to do it, man. I heard you …”

“Slow … See? You lost it.”

“There’s no talkin’ … there’s no talkin’ in fishin’, man. That’s the beauty of fishin’!” It was obvious Eliot wasn’t happy with the arrangement but Nathan and the girls had been watching him like hawks since he’d collapsed outside the bank so he’d settled on this compromise.

Alec looked over at him, “You’re tense, man. It’s a delicate sport. You need to be delicate.”

Eliot frowned and cast out again. A blip sounded from the game and Hardison said, “You got it, man! Yeah!”

Even as he saw his score go even higher Eliot sighed and shook his head, “It’s just not the same.”

“You’re right,” Alec agreed. “It’s better,” he grinned and reeled in a ‘fish’ of his own with a laugh.

Eliot had to smile at the younger man’s enthusiasm but in his mind he was already counting down to when he could slip his leash and head out on his own for some real fishing. And, who knew, he might even invite a friend.

>^..^<

The End

  



End file.
